


Who Put the Good in Goodbye?

by hbomba



Category: Wentworth (TV)
Genre: Canon Lesbian Character, Canon Lesbian Relationship, F/F, Fridget, Lesbian, Season/Series 05
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-18
Updated: 2021-01-18
Packaged: 2021-03-16 00:54:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 10,785
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28822536
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hbomba/pseuds/hbomba
Summary: Franky remembers life with Bridget as she navigates Wentworth again and plans her escape.
Relationships: Franky Doyle & Bridget Westfall, Franky Doyle/Bridget Westfall
Comments: 12
Kudos: 34





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Taking a rare trip into the back half of season five, from Franky’s perspective. I tried to incorporate my story with scenes that took place in season five so some of the dialogue may seem familiar, that’s on purpose because in some cases I wanted to extend those scenes even if only with a sentence. Thanks for reading and commenting!

“Never say goodbye because goodbye means going away and going away means forgetting.”―J.M. Barrie

* * *

It was dark and smelled of oil and metal shavings. She’d pulled herself up into the air vent she’d accessed from Bridget’s office and wriggled her way through the shaft until she emerged high above Wentworth. Her elbow stung from smashing it against the grate, but when the pain cleared and the fresh air hit her face, Franky Doyle felt the pure exhilaration of near freedom.

Stretching her arms wide and letting the breeze on the roof atop Wentworth wash over her, Franky wished for wings to lift off. She’d leave it all in a blink of an eye to return to Bridget and their life together. And as she watched Doreen leave Wentworth in the arms of Nash and Josh from the rooftop high above, she felt a pang of guilt for not being there for Doreen’s send off. She knew it was a character flaw, embedded so deep that she’d never be free of it--Franky Doyle was never good at goodbyes.

The air was cool, a strong breeze blowing across the rooftop as she watched their reunion. She could see the city in the distance and her heart ached for the ability to go to it. Her eyes teared up and she shook her head to clear her vision and refocus on her goal--getting the fuck off the roof. Unfortunately, the roof was locked up as tight as everything else in Wentworth. So when all avenues had been exhausted, Franky returned to the air vent and slithered back down to Bridget’s office.

Out of time and out of breath, Franky had jumped down just as Bridget opened the door, and Bridget was incredulous upon seeing Franky in her office. Franky had at least hoped she’d be happy to see her so she could use that to distract Bridget. Unfortunately, Bridget was still stinging from being burned by her stealing her swipe card, not to mention being paranoid about Franky’s association with Allie. Still, she almost got away with her rooftop excursion, except for the damning dusty footprint on the table conveniently located below the vent.

Franky wanted to tell her what she had planned, that she was desperate to get back to their life together and everything she was doing she was doing to that end. She had to clear her name and rejoin Bridget on the outside and if that meant breaking every trust she’d worked so hard to gain, Franky was going to burn it all down because she reckoned she could repair the damage when her true intentions were revealed.

But she wasn’t prepared for how disappointed Bridget had been and Franky felt it like a punch to the gut when she snapped at her to “Get out.” 

* * *

After dinner Franky moped back to her cell to read. She’d had enough of the prison chatter and needed some quiet even if, in this case, quiet meant the constant din of the prison was slightly lessened by her cell’s door.

Franky tossed the book in her hand onto the floor and pulled the pillow around her head to cover her ears trying to capture as much silence as she could. She closed her eyes and let her mind wander to a time when quiet was the peaceful trill of birds in Bridget’s back yard.

Summer afternoons with the back door wide open, breeze filtering through the kitchen, and Bridget wandering the bungalow in her undies. The simplicity of life without the rigidity of prison rules and posturing for other inmates was something Franky yearned for again.

She wouldn’t see Bridget for another week and when she finally did set eyes upon her walking up the stairs to do group sessions in the Library, Allie alerted her to a real problem. “She reckons we're fucking, anyways.”

_Time for damage control._ She climbed the stairs quickly to find Bridget in the darkened Library setting up. She was still steaming from the rooftop runner routine Franky had pulled and it was difficult not to feel defeated already. Franky stepped away from the pile of plastic chairs and toward Bridget.

“I’m not fucking Allie. I would not do that to you.”

And in that moment there was an understanding between them. A look that told Franky, Bridget believed her. She left then, when all she wanted to do was reconcile with Bridget in the stacks. The past week had been hell without her around, and Franky had been so relieved to see Bridget, but she remained undeterred from her escape. Bridget was still pissed--there was no changing that immediately--so Franky continued her mission.

She was always a few steps ahead of the moment she was in, but Franky hadn’t really thought the laundry room pash with Allie the whole way through. Her cover for plotting escape was cheating on Bridget and without realizing what she’d done, she set up Ferguson to attack Bridget with the illicit knowledge she had inadvertently provided her with. 

And when she couldn't tell Bridget what really had happened in the laundry, it all fell apart. She pounded her fist against the brick wall, physical pain was not enough to distract from the real insult. Franky had broken the one thing that she had swore she’d never break--Bridget’s heart. She was desperate to see her again and set things straight, but her request went unanswered and left her waiting.

As Franky lay on the thin foam mattress of her bunk that night, she remembered the last time they had made love. Franky had been hiding things from her then too, having burned the photos in the kitchen sink before slinking into the bedroom. 

Bridget had no idea that Franky was racked with guilt, that she was being stalked or threatened and Franky had no way to tell her when she crawled into bed and Bridget slid closer to her. There wasn’t a ‘help me’ in her vocabulary when she was in Wentworth and that phrase didn’t come easy on the outside either.

Bridget stroked her cheek, eyes weighing the solemn expression on Franky’s face. “You’re sure you’re okay?”

“Yeah,” Franky nodded. “I’m fine. Just tired is all.”

“That’s a shame,” Bridget said. “I had such plans for you.”

Franky had to smile at that. “I’m never that tired.”

“Hmm…” Bridget kissed the tip of Franky’s nose and then her lips, tenderly. 

Franky had to admit, guilt and fear were not the most convincing aphrodisiacs, but Bridget was always alluring. She smiled at her in their moonlit bedroom, eyes sparkling in the darkness. Franky wanted to forget about Mike, about the photos and threats, but mostly about the corner she was backed into. And as it happened, sex was one of Franky’s most popular coping mechanisms.

She moved over Bridget and, smiling up at Franky, Bridget arched beneath her. Bridget’s body was welcome therapy on a good night, but on a night that left her feeling so uncertain about her future, it was salvation. She was a grounding influence in Franky’s life and that night was no different.

Franky kissed her with a concerted passion and she clung to Franky as her hands wandered the curves of Bridget’s body. She was everything. Franky coveted the sweetness of her breath, the softness of her lips, and the scent of her skin. Bridget was pretty perfect and if she were admitting to the worst of her addiction, she’d speak about the blinding adoration she felt for the older woman. Bridget had changed Franky’s whole world view--from that first meeting in the hallway, to the safety she offered as Franky processed her past in their sessions, to inviting her into her life on the outside--Gidget was the future.

Her hand slipped behind Bridget’s thigh, hiking it up over her hip, her calf across Franky’s rear. She laughed like she often did when they were together. Their meetings were always so joyful and Franky felt like the worst kind of liar as Bridget laughed alone. 

And before she could notice, Franky kissed Bridget again. Her penance was the slow, thoughtful press of her lips that she bestowed upon Bridget, She loved her, there was no denying that--not that she’d ever try--and Franky finally felt confident in Bridget's love as well. There was something about the way she loved Franky that imbued her with courage and poise. Franky was evolving with Bridget’s help and if she were being honest, Bridget was changing too.

The blonde hummed against Franky’s ear and a chill ran through her body. Hair standing on its ends, Franky felt her arousal grow tenfold. She pressed herself against Bridget and bit her bottom lip as her body grew taut. Bridget held her face like a treasured and priceless item of lore, hands on either cheek, thumbs caressing her skin.

She examined Franky’s expression briefly, but somehow missed her guilt despite Franky believing it must’ve been written across her forehead. All that time inside had really perfected Franky’s countenance, and somehow lying had become second nature. It wasn’t that she enjoyed dishonesty, but it came easier than the truth some days. She didn’t want to involve Bridget in her shit. Her past had come back to haunt her and she was not going to allow Bridget to be brought down with her. Looking down upon Bridget, she forgot about Mike and the harassment and channeled all that frustration into an act so intimate, her body couldn’t lie for her either.

Franky soaked her in, loving her with kisses on her neck, her shoulder, her breasts, belly and thighs. She knew Bridget’s body better than any lover she’d had. They’d had months to form the bond that tethered Franky to Bridget so effectively and Franky felt settled--at home even--with Bridget. Franky enjoyed the familiarity of being with her. Loving Bridget was never boring and domesticity suited her far more than she ever imagined it would.

As she inched down the mattress, Bridget reached for her, brushing Franky’s hair from her face with a tender stroke of her hand. Franky found herself leaning into her touch ever so briefly before covering Bridget’s center with her mouth. The blonde shuddered beneath her, reaching down to hold Franky’s hands against her hips. 

Franky threaded her fingers with Bridget’s as she savored her task. She took her time, slowly bringing Bridget to levels of frustration as only Franky could, and in Bridget’s pleasure Franky found her own escape.

Franky blinked. 

And just like that it was over. Replaced by another memory, more recent, and awful. It was the expression on Bridget’s face when Franky refused to tell her the truth about what happened in the laundry with Allie and it destroyed her all over again. Franky had decimated Bridget with another lie of omission. _And for what?_

She sighed at the ceiling, fingers drumming on her stomach, the teal walls invading her senses once again. If one thing held true through everything, it was her commitment to Bridget. Everything she’d done was to get back to her life with Bridget, even if she couldn’t tell her what she’d done to be with her. There would be time enough for that once she was out.

The next morning, Franky shrugged off a fitful night’s sleep and sat up, her room as empty as it was when she drifted off the night before. Another day with the tannoy droning on about breakfast and work units, she started her day the same way she’d started it every day since she’d been arrested for murdering Mike Pennisi--with a good, long look at her kite necklace. She couldn’t wear it but she could take comfort in it (and she did.) 

Breakfast was terrible. Franky missed being able to make her own food, but she wasn’t interested in getting into it with Mercado and the others in the current kitchen staff to make that happen. The monotony of her day was broken up with a new job in the workshop. Booms begrudgingly set her and Allie up in the shop just before officer Miles finally came to retrieve her for a counseling appointment.

Franky didn’t need counseling, she needed to see Bridget. She struggled with what she was going to say on the long trek up to her office, except when she arrived she found Bridget packing up the last bits of her things. Her heart sank. She was leaving Franky to fend for herself at Wentworth and Franky couldn’t help feeling betrayed and abandoned. 

“I fuckin’ love you!” Franky shouted as Bridget turned her back and walked toward the door.

When Bridget turned, her eyes were full of unshed tears. “I fuckin’ love you, too.”

“It’s not over. We’re not done!” Franky railed against the inevitable. Bridget was leaving her, like everyone else in her life had, and she could not face the new reality. Franky sobbed in the empty office. The place where it all began, was now where it had also ended. She looked around for anything in the room that remained of Bridget but could not find a single item.

She was desperate for a connection, for someone to hold her and tell her she wasn’t alone. As she approached Allie’s cell, her confusion and desperation grew. She couldn’t be alone. Not now. She’d denied the chemistry between her and Allie out of respect for Bridget but right then it felt useless. She’d lost all hope of returning to her life on the outside. Looking down the barrel of two life sentences and life without Bridget, even in small doses, Franky did what she’d always done--she tried to move on by moving in on Allie. 

She kissed her and tried to forget. But kissing Allie didn’t make her forget Bridget, in fact, it made her miss her more. There was no replacing Bridget, even under the influence of a chemistry that had once been forbidden. Every flash of Bridget behind her closed eyelids caused Franky to push forward with Allie. She yanked Allie’s legs and crawled on top of her. There was no tenderness, no affection, only sexual chemistry that had gone untapped...until that moment. She tried to force it to fill the vacancy left by Bridget, but without Allie’s complicitness she failed.

Allie’s surprise and ultimate rejection forced Franky to face what had happened with Bridget as she crept back to her cell alone. There would be no sex to block it out, no new relationship to make her forget about Bridget, and no distraction from her pain. She had to live with it because, once again, Franky was shit at goodbyes and worse at being alone.

Franky surrounded herself with people--she kept herself as separate as possible from them, but she drew strength from the others just the same. Whether it be the constant companionship of Kimmy or Jodie in the past or Bridget’s calming influence, Franky thrived around others even if she was a loner at heart. 

And alone once again in her cell, Franky clutched her pillow and cried for Bridget, for her freedom, and her life on the outside. A heart-wrenching sob rattled her bones, it was sorrow unlike any she’d known before and that was saying a lot for the hand Franky had been dealt in life.

Franky shut herself in her cell for the rest of the night, ignoring Boomer’s pleas for company and Liz’s concern when she did not eat dinner. She had no desire to be around others during the most painful break-up of her life. There was no strength to be gained in numbers today, no one who she could tell about Bridget, no solace to be found with company at all. She was alone in her misery and that’s how she intended to keep it. 

The following day, the hard, cold reality of Wentworth settled in around Franky once again without Bridget to remind her of life on the outside, and she vowed to rejoin her old life. She would escape. She would find the evidence to clear her name. She would return to her job and to Bridget and their life together. She was resolute in her mission.

Things with Allie were weird at breakfast, but nobody clued in on what had happened between the pair. Franky thought Boomer might have had an inkling when she whispered “Can I ask you something?” in her ear but instead of the hard question she’d expected, Boomer merely said “Hey, uh, can I bum a fiver off ya?” because she was out of biscuits. 

And in the workshop, when Franky finally got the guts to say “Are we okay?” to Allie, things had chilled a bit. Franky had dodged another friendship-destroying bullet and in her time alone the night before, she had made herself reexamine the wisdom of inviting Allie to join her in escaping. 

She tried to give her an out, especially after what happened, but Allie quickly deflected any chance of that. However, two heads were better than one and Franky could always use an extra pair of hands around the prison, especially when Allie seemed to have connections. Nothing was free, however, the problem with partners was that they brought their own set of troubles, and Allie was no different. She brought Kaz and a whole host of shit Franky didn’t want to deal with.

But Franky went on about her day doing legal advocacy work in the library during her freetime. It wasn’t much, but if she could help setting the women up with some hope in their court proceedings, then it was time well spent. When Franky met Iman, she had no idea that in a few short days she’d find Mike Pennisi’s name amongst the trolls on the message boards Iman frequented. 

When Franky asked Iman about it, she denied knowing him, sending Franky’s bullshit detector into alarm. She began parsing Iman's file apart, looking for more clues. When she came across Iman’s therapist’s name, Franky immediately thought of Bridget. She convinced herself it wasn’t just an excuse to reach out to her, that only Bridget could help, but there was still the matter of how to get in touch with her.

Kim Chang. Franky sighed as she headed into her ex-girlfriend’s unit. Kimmy might have been the closest thing Franky had to a steady girlfriend during her time in Wentworth. It was a key move for her not to be alone in prison. Even when posturing was her modus operandi, Franky had the support and the body of a woman to keep her warm. 

When Kimmy got paroled, Franky moved on to the next--Jodie Spiteri. Except Jodie was a distraction from the abandonment Franky felt for being left behind again. And then, like a miracle she never asked for, there was Bridget… swooping in like a bloody superhero to save Franky from herself.

Franky would never forget the day Kimmy returned to Wentworth, and the way she flirted with Bridget right up until Kimmy rushed out of Medical and into her arms again. It was a total mindfuck and not just for Franky. She saw the look on Bridget’s face when Kimmy exclaimed “I missed you!”

It would have been so easy to pick up where they left off when Kimmy came to her cell to get reacquainted, and Franky tried, really she did. But something had changed. As much as her nearness aroused Franky, she didn’t burn for Kim anymore, and in the moment that she rejected her past, Franky realized her future was hanging on Bridget.

And so, when she went to see Kim for the first time since Mike’s death brought her back to Wentworth, it was to ask a favor. And just like that, her future was fully intertwined with her past. 

“Kimmy, I never meant to hurt you. I just fell in love with her. It was the first time I ever let myself go there. It just wasn’t something that I could control, you know?”

“That’s how I felt about you, Franky...once.”

Kim’s words landed like a gut punch. Franky knew she had burned a lot of bridges in prison, and in retrospect bitchslapping Kimmy hadn’t been the most prudent course of action, but she never anticipated being back and needing anything from old consorts. She knew it was selfish but she had worked to overcome the stigma of prison and to be back in Wentworth, alone, was crushing.

When Kim stormed out of her own cell to avoid her, Franky saw her chances of reaching out to Bridget shriveling up right before her eyes. Alone in Kim’s cell, Franky felt her world collapsing again. As she made her way back to H1, defeated for now, she sat on her bunk in her cell staring at the teal brick trying to make sense of the situation until Allie came to drag her to lunch, despite having no desire to eat. She knew the gnawing in her stomach was not hunger, but her fate. 

Her life was teetering on a pin’s head and right then Franky was having a hard time balancing there. In prison she was in limbo. Prison was _always_ limbo for Franky. And now that it was looking more like a permanent situation, she was starting to feel the pressure of prison again. She didn’t want to go back to being a prisoner, she didn’t want to rise to the occasion of being Top Dog again, but most of all she didn’t want to forget what being on the outside was like with Bridget.

Franky avoided Boomer, who was shouting at the television when she got back to the unit, and returned to her cell to sulk about her bad luck alone. She tried to read for pleasure to take her mind off the debacle that had become her life and when she found her mind wandering to her memories of a life with Bridget, she set the book in her lap, rested her head against the concrete wall, and let herself reminisce. After all, her memories might be all that remained of what she had on the outside.

She remembered her first birthday on the outside. The quiet Ethiopian restaurant that served up delicious finger foods to the booth in the back. Cold beers. Quiet and secluded, they sat, eyes aglow by lantern-light, holding hands, laughing, in love and alive with the celebration of another year together late into the night. Franky remembered making love, tipsy and laughing as she loved Bridget. It was a memory that was written on her soul.

Franky sighed. She would hold her memories close until they could celebrate again. Maybe soon. She shook her head, not wanting to reminisce any longer, she returned to Iman’s file. If she couldn’t concentrate on her own future, she’d try to figure out what the deal with Iman was. 

As she rifled through the pages looking for another clue to connect Iman to Pennisi, she heard Kimmy say her name. Her anger had seemingly dissipated and Franky felt her heart race as Kimmy passed her the mobile. 

“Two minutes,” she said.

The gratitude Franky felt for Kimmy’s small measure of kindness was immense. The lump in her throat tripled in size as Franky dialed Bridget’s number, her pulse pounding in her ears. If she didn’t answer, it was unlikely that Franky would get to try again, so she prayed to whoever might listen that Bridget would pick up the call. And when she did, Franky’s heart leapt.

“Gidget, it’s me.”

“How did you get through?”

“Hey, I’ll explain later. I’ve only got two minutes. Look, I know you don’t want to talk to me. I’m just desperate for your help.”

“Franky…”

“Please. I don’t have long.” She held the phone close to her face with both hands as if willing Bridget to listen to her plea. “Can you come see me so we can talk about it?”

She could hear Bridget sigh through the mobile’s earpiece. “You’re in luck,” she said. “I happen to be in the area.”

When visiting hours rolled around, Franky was the first one in the queue to get seated at a table. And when Bridget walked in, Franky couldn’t help the smile that spread across her face. 

“Here she is.”

She wanted to wrap her up in an embrace and hold on to her for dear life, but she couldn’t. Playing it cool--as cool as a prisoner with a huge smile on her face greeting the ex-prison psych could manage--Franky sat at the table across from Bridget.

“Thanks for coming in.”

“Wish I could say no.”

Damn, if she didn’t look amazing in her white leather jacket. Franky tried to focus as she leaned across the table.

“So, um, what was it on the phone that you couldn’t talk about?”

“You remember that new prisoner, Iman? So I’m helping her with some legal advocacy stuff and I find out she’s got a social media connection to Mike Pennisi.”

“ _The_ Mike Pennisi?”

“I know it’s a longshot, but I reckon it’s worth looking into her background.

“That’s what I said on the phone. It’s a job for your lawyer.”

“That’s the name of her therapist. I want you to talk to her.”

As she slid the scrap of paper into Bridget’s waiting hands, Franky’s finger brushed Bridget’s and she was inordinately invested in that smallest touch. She hadn’t been touched by Bridget since she left Wentworth, and she was, not surprisingly, more invested than ever before. The problem was now she knew what it was like to hold Bridget and to love her and she was bereft that she could not acknowledge her in the company of others.

“If you were a client, I wouldn’t be sitting here.”

“Please, Gidge. It’s my only lead. It could be the difference between freedom and twenty years in here.”

Franky knew Bridget wouldn’t refuse to help her, but she felt like her opportunities were drying up, nonetheless. The small smile they shared at a table that had probably seen its share of tragic lovers kept apart by a flawed justice system, was enough to restore Franky’s hope in what was to come.

“Okay.”

Franky couldn’t help the sigh that escaped her, nor the grin that spread across her face when Bridget responded. Relief and the confidence of having Bridget on her side washed over her as she sat close to the only woman to ever deconstruct her defenses . But she was stuck in Wentworth, and like before Bridget was so close, and yet so far away.

She spent the rest of the night in a haze, on a natural high that only came with being around Bridget, even at a meter away, her proximity made Franky cheerier. After dinner, she went to work scouring Iman’s file again. She told herself it was to help with her defense but in reality, Franky was looking for another clue about Iman’s connection to Mike.

She rifled through the papers for what felt like the tenth time that evening, looking for anything that might expose the truth, when Boomer appeared in her cell. She was suss after work unit when she caught Franky ditching the planters and as she stood in her cell pouring out her big, beautiful heart to Franky, she was beginning to understand that her escape was going to have an impact in ways she had not even considered.

“Listen. I’ve been given responsibility and for once…for once, I feel special.Yeah? Like...people are actually looking up to me.”

“That’s awesome, Booms. I’m happy for ya.” Except it didn’t feel like happiness, rather full-on dread.

“So I’m just saying, don’t screw that up for me, okay?”

Franky nodded and guilt immediately began to build in her chest. So Franky wasn’t the woman she used to be--the tough and hardened prisoner, ruthless ex-Top Dog with a chip on her shoulder the size of Uluru. She had worked hard with Bridget and sorted out a lot of her shit on her own, but being back in Wentworth was teasing Franky’s worst instincts out of her again. It wasn’t only that she needed to escape Wentworth, but the person that she became inside Wentworth. The person who, in Boomer’s case, couldn’t put her number one’s self-esteem ahead of her own need to escape both those things.

When Boomer left her cell, the silence was deafening. She couldn’t remember when Wentworth had been so quiet apart from when everyone’was asleep. 

Franky sighed. “Fuck,” she whispered, covering her face.


	2. Chapter 2

The following day, visitor’s hour brought another visit from Bridget. She could barely control the smile that spread across her face once again when Bridget walked in the holding area.

“I could get used to this, seeing you every day.” Franky reached across the table, because in her other life, Bridget would have held her hands on the table for anyone to see. Today, however, Bridget’s hands remained in her lap.

“I could never get used to it, not after what we had.”

They shared a knowing gaze. Franky couldn’t help but feeling a little sad at Bridget’s response but that feeling didn’t last long.

“But maybe I won’t have to.” Bridget interjected.

“What, you found something?”

As she listened to Bridget describe Zoe Taylor’s counseling course and Pennisi and Iman’s connection, her eyes grew wider.

“Holy shit. Oh, they knew each other alright. Iman lied to me.”

“Mmhm.”

“This changes everything.”

“Franky, don’t do anything you’ll regret.” There it was--that trademark Bridget concern. Franky knew their relationship wasn’t over. Not yet.

“Gidge, she knows something. Why else would she lie about knowing Pennisi?”

“Just be careful.”

* * *

Franky was still floating from her twenty minutes with Bridget, even if that twenty minutes wasn’t hot and heavy in a janitor’s closet, but under the watchful eye of ten CCTV cameras in the visitor holding area. Still, she had business with Iman and once she was strip searched and sent on her merry way, she found her way to Iman’s empty unit and cell.

When Franky found her necklace in Iman’s curtain, she felt her blood begin to boil. Iman had duped her, and Franky was rightly pissed. Still, she never expected Iman to swipe at her with a shiv. It was then that Franky remembered Bridget’s concern: Just be careful.

Too late.

Iman attacked her, confessed to killing Mike, and just when Franky thought she was going to lose their struggle, Ferguson intervened--as only a psycho could--by snapping Iman’s neck.

In the hours that followed Franky had plenty of time to relive it all over again. She felt despair in a way that hadn’t touched her in years. The difference was, that despair was for the past, this new, more horrible version was her future.

When the Detective came to charge her with Iman’s murder, Franky felt the futile burn of fate. Ferguson had bested her again and Franky felt that rage of yore return with new intensity. She seethed with hot, gnawing fury just waiting to be set loose on the world.

When Franky calmed, she figured a few days had passed and she returned to fretting about the green wall shipment and her ticket out of her own personal hell (also known as Wentworth.) When more time passed that she couldn’t keep track of, she began to wonder if Allie would leave without her. That worry didn’t last long because as much as she liked Allie, she didn’t think she had the balls to go it alone, so Franky felt confident that their arrangements would still be good to go when she got out. But when would that be?

Franky was wound tight, unable to relax or think of anything but her impending escape and what it might hold for her. After a few days of constant worry, Franky became accustomed to her captivity and began looking for an escape from the monotony of solitary, as well.

She exercised before breakfast, doing sit-ups and push-ups mostly to keep busy and when the library cart came around (thanks to Vinegar Tits’s new literary outreach program as part of the new, more progressive Wentworth,) Franky would borrow a book to read after lunch. And in the evenings, after dinner but before sleep, that was Franky’s time to reminisce and remember her time with Bridget.

That night she lay on the hard bunk in the slot, accused of murdering not one, but two people, and let herself drift away to the back of her mind where she kept Bridget safe in her memories.

A summer picnic at the park, beach trips to watch surf competitions and swim amongst the riptides, quiet nights at home, the sweet domesticity of Sunday mornings--her life with Bridget had been a dream come true. Franky was always sad when she came to that realization because it led to acknowledging her current situation was that much more desperate.

And tonight, she drifted off to a weekend getaway to the coast. She remembered a particularly tough week at Legal Relief and Bridget surprising her Friday afternoon by picking her up at work and whisking her away to a quiet little bayside town. She had made all the arrangements unbeknownst to Franky, even going as far as to pack her a bag, making it that much more special.

They shared a bottle of flawless (and expensive) wine at a restaurant with magnificent food and a sunset view, though the view didn’t matter much to Franky because she couldn’t keep her eyes off Bridget. Infatuated by her beauty, Franky’s eyes followed her every movement.

The golden hour fell across her skin, a painting so lush Franky’s eyes could barely comprehend her. Her smile and laugh brightened even the worst week and Franky remembered feeling so very grateful in that moment. She reached across the table, touching Bridget’s cheek ever so lightly. Something inside of her crumbled as she confirmed Bridget was real. What she felt swelling in her chest then could only be described as love and Franky knew the shine of Bridget’s smile was fueled by her own love.

Looking back at their closeness made Franky ache. But the memory reel didn’t stop.

In the half-light of magic hour, they made love in a quaint bed and breakfast by the bay. She could hear the water against the shores as their bodies crushed any notion of separateness. Bridget attended to her, loving her gently with a firm hand and Franky couldn’t remember ever feeling more connected to someone else.

She clung her Bridget as she came, her release so profound that it brought the indomitable Franky Doyle to tears. And once the tears began to flow, Franky felt the release of an awful week as well.

She sighed, tears returning to her eyes, as she lay on the hard bunk in the slot. She blinked away the wetness and shook her head. Looking back on it, that week Bridget had saved her from seemed like a cakewalk compared to what she was going through now.

* * *

She was loose after nearly a week in the slot. Fucking hell. She walked with purpose--no longer in a cage within a concrete box--and made a beeline for H1. When she rounded the corner to the unit she found herself in the middle of Kaz’s congregation.

When the lot of them asked Franky to join in, she couldn’t hide her annoyance at the idea of a kangaroo court. “You do that, I guarantee you’ll be standing there holding your dick.”

Franky ignored their pleas to join up and closed herself inside her cell. She was doing inventory on her escape baggy when Allie appeared in her cell. Franky knew Kaz had sent her, still, she asked the only question that had been on her mind since she was slotted. “Did you get pliers?”

“Where from?”

Franky’s annoyance grew exponentially. She’d taken a partner to escape for somewhat selfish reasons. Yes, it was obvious that Allie needed to get out, but Franky also saw her connections and hoped they would come in handy. When Franky was slotted, she told herself Allie would continue to prepare, now that she was back, Franky was beginning to doubt her earlier decision.

She dug her heels in. “We’re getting out of here in that delivery. That’s all that matters now.”

* * *

Franky never thought she’d miss the quiet of the slot, but the truth was she didn’t have the energy for everyone else’s drama. Between Allie harping on her to join Kaz’s jury, Liz’s nightmares and Boomer on the verge of going bunta at the drop of a hat, Franky was exhausted.

She sat on her bunk staring at photos of Mike Pennisi’s home, seeing a part of his life she’d never bother imagining. His flat was impossibly neat, upscale, he didn’t appear to want for much. Must have been due to a payoff he’d received from the television production after the assault.

When she got to the blank wall she remembered what Iman had said about Pennisi’s shrine to her. “Shit,” she whispered.

* * *

Franky had taken a meeting with her lawyer to try to compel her to look into the shrine angle. Unfortunately, like everything else, it didn’t go the way she’d hoped. Franky raged as she punched the bag with every ounce of her strength. Over and over again, she smashed the bag with her fists. She’d poured over the evidence--the crime scene at Mike’s--but Imogen was right, without physical evidence, Franky’s theories would only be a motive to the police. She hated being wrong. Especially when everything in her bones told her the evidence was there, it was just that nobody had bothered to look for it.

She pounded the punching bag, rage reaching critical levels. Exercise was supposed to expel toxic emotions, but today, punching that bag only saw her anger build. And when Allie tried once again to enlist her to join the kangaroo court, Franky was set to explode.

“Fuck the Freak! I’m not that person anymore.” Franky punched the bag with renewed fury. “The best revenge for Red is to get the fuck out of here and leave Ferguson to rot.”

“Only she won’t rot, will she? She’ll still be here, she’ll still be Top Dog, torturing the women. Killing them.”

“Well, fuckin’ don’t come with me, then.”

“No, Franky!”

“No, fuck you. It’s okay, I’ll go alone. I don’t need ya.” Franky threw her hands up and walked off.

“Franky!” Allie called after her.

“I don’t need ya! Fuck off,” she yelled back.

Franky Doyle was well and truly fuckin' sick of Allie’s allegiance to Kaz and Kaz's principled reign as Top Dog. Not to mention the fact that depending on another person was never Franky’s strong suit.

* * *

However, her anger didn’t last long. In fact, it lasted only as long as it took for her to get back to H1. In the past she would have found Kim, or some other consort and fucked her frustrations away. But Franky knew that nothing good would come of treading in old waters again.

However, the Old Franky was getting comfortable in her skin again and the New Franky was not on board with this development. Therapy had given Franky coping mechanisms to short circuit her reactionary anger but being back in Wentworth had produced so much anger that New Franky was starting to feel like she was drowning in bitter, old, ill-fitting habits of her old persona.

She turned on the tap in the sink in her cell and began to wash up. Her hair stuck to her sweaty skin at her temples. She splashed her face with cold water and pressed a towel against her face to dry. When she lowered the towel, she took a long look at her reflection. She sighed. Franky was still in there somewhere and she had less than a day to get pliers from somewhere in the prison.

No time like the present, she thought as she headed to medical. Flirting to get Nurse Radcliffe off her game was easy--not her type, but Franky was eager to make her uncomfortable with their banter. In doing so, she distracted her enough to locate her keys and when she conned her into getting the doctor, Franky struck.

Guilt curdled in her stomach as Franky returned to sit on the exam table with only one pair of pliers. Saying sorry was still something Franky was working on, but she had learned that when she didn’t have the words, actions would do. And so Franky went back for seconds because grabbing Allie a pair of scissors from Medical was as close to sorry as she could manage today.

* * *

The following morning after breakfast, Franky lay on her bunk and, looking at her necklace for some time, she knew what it was that needed to be done. After work unit, Franky headed straight to Kim Chang’s cell again. She was so fucking tired of Wentworth, she needed to talk to Bridget again, and Kim had helped her before and, true to form, Franky would push her luck trying to get her to help again.

“Hey,” Franky leaned into Kimmy’s cell.

Kim sat up on her bunk. “Franky, hey.”

“I need to borrow the mobile again.”

Kim scoffed. “After everything that happened? You’ve got to be kidding.”

“This is the last time, I promise. I’m in deep shit, Kim. Throw me a line, will ya?”

“I thought you broke up.”

“We did. It’s just...complicated.”

Kim sighed. “Isn’t everything?”

“Kimmy, I’m sorry, yeah? I wouldn’t be asking if my life didn’t depend on it.”

Kim’s eyebrows lifted and she let out a surprised laugh. “A bit dramatic, even for you, Franky.”

“God dammit, Kimmy. I’m innocent and a phone call could literally save my life. Are you going to be petty or are you going to help me?”

Kim crossed her arms over her chest and stared Franky down. Five-foot-nothing, chin raised high, she stood her ground against Franky. They stood at an impasse for what felt like minutes until, relenting, Kim shook her head. “Give me ten minutes.”

Franky skulked back to her cell, sitting heavily on her bunk and waiting the longest seven minutes of her life before Kim stepped into her cell.

“Did you ever care about me, Franky?”

“Yeah.” She nodded. “Of course. We were good together.”

“You never looked at me the way you look at her.”

“Kimmy…”

“I know. I just wish things were different.”

Franky nodded. “I’m sorry.” She reached for Kim’s hand. “For everything.”

Kim nodded before producing the mobile with her other hand. “Be fast about it.”

* * *

When Kim left her alone to use the phone, Franky convinced Bridget to come visit later that day. Things were spiralling out of control and Franky needed grounding. She needed to be reminded of the reason she was struggling against the tide of Wentworth when it would be so much easier to just be who the other prisoners wanted her to be.

She stood to greet Bridget, who sauntered over to the table and sat casually across from Franky. She looked weary and Franky knew that she was partly, nay mostly, to blame for that.

“Gidge, it’s so good to see you.” Franky’s smile was full of the immense relief that she felt just by seeing Bridget. She felt lighter still as they sat together.

“Franky, what is this? I can’t keep coming in without raising alarms.”

“I know.” She nodded solemnly. “I just needed to talk to you.” She paused and captured Bridget’s eyes with her own. “About us.”

She sighed. “Franky…”

“See, here’s the thing, Gidge. For the first time in my life, I love someone and I’m not giving her up because of a garbage charge. I’m fuckin’ innocent. Are you gonna walk away from this feeling good about the way you ended things? Because that’s a luxury I don’t have.”

“Baby, please.” Bridget said quietly. “Nothing about this feels good, Franky.”

“Things here are bad.” Franky looked at her hands, clasped on the table, wishing once again that she could reach across the gap and hold Bridget’s hand. “Can you promise me something?”

“I’m not sure.” She hesitated.

“Gidge, I need to know that you’ll be there for me when I get out.”

“How can I promise that, Franky? That could be twenty years from now for fucks sake.”

“Bridget…”

“Franky, I…”

“I know,” Franky said, nodding. “If prison has taught me anything it’s that life is short, but love is long.

“Franky, what are you talking about?”

“Ferguson killed Iman and the police charged me for it.”

Bridget’s expression dropped. “Oh, fuck.”

“I’m gonna be in here the rest of my life if shit doesn’t change, but I’m hoping that in the next few days things might become clearer.”

“You’re not making sense. Let me get you another lawyer.”

“No, Gidge, please. I just need that one thing from you.”

Bridget inhaled deeply and nodded at Franky. “I will wait.”

* * *

Gidge would wait. The universe just threw Franky a life preserver and she practically floated back to her unit after her visit with Bridget. Returning to her cell, Franky laid down on her bunk, hugging her pillow tightly and pressing her face into the lumpy prison-issued pillow. She daydreamed about Bridget’s down pillows and duvet, and her five thousand thread count sheets. Prison didn’t hold a candle to life on the outside and bedding was no different.

She drifted back to the bed and breakfast by the Bay. She remembered waking early the morning after their sunset dinner, Bridget was still asleep and Franky watched the sun come up against her lover’s skin. When Gidge finally roused, they enjoyed a complimentary continental breakfast before venturing out for a hike on the trails that surrounded the area.

The trees were tall and the underbrush was thick. Dressed in jeans and a tank top, Franky clomped along the trail in her black leather boots. They’d been walking for a few hours, on the scenic trail that started along a ridge and continued down to the beach.

Bridget was marching in front of her, and Franky might’ve been annoyed by her partner’s eagerness for their walkabout but she was enjoying the rear view of Gidge’s short shorts and her legs stretching ahead as they hiked.

“When you said you were whisking me away for a romantic weekend, I didn’t think this was the sort of work out I was going to be getting.”

Bridget stopped abruptly in front of her and turned on her heel to face Franky. “Fresh air is a natural liniment for the body.”

“So’s sex.” Franky grinned.

Bridget chortled and took a step toward Franky, wrapping her arms around Franky’s neck. “Your argument is a good one, but I’m afraid we’re a long way from our room.”

Franky squeezed her rear. “There’s gotta be a private beach around here somewhere.”

Bridget hummed. “Easy.” Bridget kissed her lightly, brushing a sweaty tendril of hair from Franky’s temple.

Franky dropped her hands to her side in defeat. “Gidge, where are we going?”

“Going? Do we have to have a destination?”

Franky looked at her blankly. “Yes.”

“I thought we could have lunch overlooking the bay.”

“Sounds great, Gidge, but...” She gestured at the thick bit of trees they were surrounded by. “Where’s the beach?”

“Patience,” she said, taking Franky’s hand and tugging her forward.

“I appreciate the thought, Gidge, really I do, but going on hours-long walkabout after the week from hell has not been as restful as you may have intended.”

“Baby,” she cooed in a sing-song way that told Franky she would not win this argument. “We’re almost there.”

Franky sighed, continuing to clomp along behind Bridget. When they emerged from the tree cover, the beach opened up in front of them.

“There.” Bridget smiled back at Franky, who softened at the sight.

Franky remembered that moment with the utmost clarity--the scent of the Bay in her nostrils, as they walked up the beach, Bridget reaching back for her hands and pulling her along, sun in her eyes, a halo of light surrounding Bridget’s hair as it blew in the ocean breeze. She was beautiful, but on that day she was stunning.

“Hey,” Allie’s voice cut through her reminiscing and brought her back to the present. “It’s time.”

Franky sat up and nodded. She couldn’t have predicted what would happen during Kaz’s kangaroo court, but damn if it didn’t feel good to shout out the truth to the other prisoners. Of course, when they strung Ferguson up she was surprised and sad for her part in it--but she stood back and let it happen because that was as close to Old Franky as she was going to get.

When the guards stormed the yard, Franky didn’t fight them as many of the others had. Knowing when to struggle against the inevitable was what a woman had to condition herself to do in prison, but it was still difficult to acknowledge that reality when faced with it. She stood against the wall as the guards subdued the crowd of women screaming for blood.

Lockdown was lifted by dinner, but Franky stayed in her cell. She was so close to escaping and so tired of lying, especially to her family.


	3. Chapter 3

When Franky roused the next day, she did so with a smile on her face. 

_Today was the day._

If she could pull this off, she’d be out with the green wall shipment come nightfall. Excitement brewed in her belly all through breakfast and work detail as they put the finishing touches on hers and Allie’s crates. 

Franky was coasting now. Just biding her time, so when she found Liz sobbing over the seedlings, she sagged. 

“Bloody Sonia,” Franky swore under her breath as she made her way back inside to find Allie. 

Allie did not share her empathy for Liz’s situation and attempted to play devil’s advocate but the situation was just so that there was no way Franky was going to leave Liz to fend for herself. She knew Liz was a tough old bird, but she reckoned Sonia meant business. Hell, Franky had been there with Liz lagging too, but there was always their prior relationship to temper her reaction. Sonia had no such allegiance to Liz and that worried Franky. 

Impulsively, the Old Franky sprung into action, marching over to Sonia in the middle of the workshop to tell her to stay away from Liz.

“If you want to get to her, you have to come through me. And if you try it, I’ll snap you like a twig.”

As far as threats go, it was a little over the top with room to grow. She knew Sonia was a psycho, and she was probably playing with fire, but a little overconfidence was always a good plan when dealing with psychos.

She was in her cell, plotting, trying to find a way to diffuse Liz’s sticky situation when she came knocking. Franky wondered if what she’d said to Sonia had the desired effect briefly, before Liz explained that she was going to put herself in protection. Relieved, Franky briefly considered telling Liz about her plan to escape, but given the fact that she was still an All-star lagger--helping the cops now, too--Franky thought better of it and instead pulled her kite necklace from her pocket.

“Take this. It’s kinda been my lucky charm. It’s given me strength and maybe a bit of courage.”

It wasn’t goodbye, but a gift was as close to that as Franky was going to get.

* * *

“Get changed. We’re leaving.”

With Liz sorted, Franky sprung into action. They made it all the way to the workshop before the code black sounded through the compound. It was the worst case scenario. They had to get back before count or else all their preparation would be for nothing. 

When Franky made it back to the unit, Boomer was already melting down. She tried to act casual, but inside she was freaking out about Allie having not returned to the unit yet all the while trying to manage Boomer.

Boomer had been her number one, and if the Old Franky were still inclined, Boomer would be her muscle again. But the truth of the matter was that New Franky had seen the other side of the wall, had felt things with Bridget that she never did with Kim or Jodie or Allie, and she knew that there was no going back. Only forward.

“She can’t die. Why do I lose everyone?” Boomer sobbed, clinging to her.

So she held Boomer as she wailed and when she calmed, Franky returned to her cell to collect her escape supplies because there was no giving up. She would try again.

She didn’t think she would be retracing her steps back to the workshop for a second attempt, but that’s how it was panning out. Allie was trailing behind her to divert suspicion, so Franky moved quickly, passing through the taped gates once again.

She was almost to the workshop when Boomer caught up to her. “You’re escaping.”

As she listened to Boomer plead with her, Franky knew she couldn’t change course. Boomer would pay for her sins once again

“Now I had a taste of my life, and I wanna go live it. Are you going to take that away from me? I love you, Booms. But I gotta go.”

She bolted through the nursery gates and towards the workshop. When the workshop door opened, Franky froze momentarily before gathering her wits and ducking behind some debris. What happened next was truly shocking. 

Boomer burst through the gate and yelled out the guard’s name from behind the fence. Franky was sure she was done for. She never believed Boomer would lag, but there they were, eyes locked, Franky’s pleading with her to not rat her out from behind a pile of containers. 

But lo, there was honor among crims.

Instead of lagging, Boomer became her cover. Unsure of what had prompted her change of heart, Franky thanked her from the doorway before entombing herself in the prepared crate. 

Franky exhaled. She was going to pull it off, she couldn’t believe it. Waiting to be loaded onto the truck was the worst part of it and even if the ride was interminable, Franky was so chuffed that she’d gladly ride around in her wooden box for as long as it took.

* * *

Franky remembered when Bridget went out of state to attend her aunt’s funeral. She couldn’t accompany Bridget because she was still on parole so Bridget went it alone. Of course, being limited by the law like that really pissed Franky off. All she wanted was to be there for Bridget who had been there for her through so many huge things, but the past had a way of keeping her there.

She spent the week alone, filling her time with the normal responsibilities of life: work, cooking, laundry, and a movie in the evenings to keep the loneliness at bay. Life was strange without Bridget around, especially when she was still living in her home with all of her things. The days passed slowly, she could only remember feeling in such limbo while being on the inside. They’d talk briefly throughout the week when she’d call, but there was no intimacy to be had in a phone call, especially with Bridget’s family milling about in the background.

But today was the day she was coming home and Franky could hardly contain herself. Despite Franky always fancying herself a loner, since getting together with Bridget she was realizing that she was a social animal. She especially liked the companionship and the comfort of having someone to come home to. And today Bridget was coming home to her.

Franky woke early in the morning, just as the birds were waking up too. She knew Bridget wouldn’t be home until later in the day, but that didn’t stop her eyes from popping open before the sun had risen. She felt the anxiety of waiting in her bones as the coffee percolated quietly in the half-light of the kitchen. 

She spent the morning quietly putting everything in its place. She wanted Bridget to feel at ease when she came home--to realize that Franky had taken great care to respect her home while she was away. By midday the house was cleaner than it was when Bridget left and Franky was satisfied with her efforts. She set about making a light lunch for herself and read the paper as she ate.

She went to the shops to find the ingredients for a perfect dinner for two and a few bottles of wine to accompany the meal before heading home again. Franky was determined to make Bridget’s homecoming a memorable one. She took her time cleaning the prawns and scallops, mincing the shallots, and heating the stock. 

As the afternoon waned, she saw the flash of headlights in the laneway and knew that Bridget was home. She dried her hands and went to the door, pulling it open to welcome her. And there she was, practically beaming as she swaggered up the path to the house with her luggage in tow.

“Hey,” Bridget said, smiling at her.

“Heya,” Franky said coyly, stepping off the stoop to relieve Bridget of her baggage. “How was the flight?”

“Oh, fine.” Bridget leaned into Franky as she reached for her bag and stole a kiss. “Good to see you.”

“Yeah,” Franky exhaled. “Are ya hungry?”

“Starved,” she said dramatically.

“C’mon, then.” Franky tugged on her hand and led her inside.

“I’m just going to go get changed,” Bridget said, taking the bag from Franky’s grip. Her fingers danced across Franky’s hand as they made the exchange and Franky smiled.

Franky returned to the kitchen to continue making dinner. The shallots sizzled in butter as she added the arborio rice to the pan and stirred it around. Pulling the cork out of a bottle of wine, she poured a pair of glasses and then returned to the stove to splash some wine in her pan. She moved swiftly in the small space, adding the warmed stock to the rice after a time. Tending to the risotto, she carefully sprinkled some peas into the mixture and turned her attention to another pan heating up beside it. The pan sang as she placed the scallops and prawns into it, searing them on each side before removing the pan from the heat.

Franky heard her padding toward her before she felt Bridget’s arms wrap around her waist from behind. She pressed her cheek against Franky’s back and hummed. 

“I missed you.”

Franky smiled at the ceiling before she turned in her arms. She reached behind Bridget and lifted the glasses of wine off the counter. Passing the stemmed glass to Bridget, Franky kissed her cheek.

“To homecomings.” Franky smiled, clinking the lip of her glass against Bridget’s before taking a sip. 

Bridget leaned against the counter and sized her up. A smile stretched her lips as she watched Franky turn back to the range to finish the risotto with a handful of parmesan. Setting her wine aside, Franky spooned the risotto into a pair of bowls, arranging the scallops and prawns, and topping it all with a gorgeous beurre blanc. A sprinkling of fresh chives for color, and Franky was spinning around, dishes in hand. 

“I hope you’re hungry,” Franky said with a dimpled grin.

“Starved,” Bridget said dramatically, lifting Franky’s wine glass from where she set it and following her to the table.

Franky set the bowls on placemats opposite each other and pulled a chair out for Bridget to sit. Helping her scoot the chair forward before crossing to be seated across from Bridget, Franky was feeling almost giddy at her nearness. After a week of alone time, Franky was so glad Bridget was home again. 

“So tell me about your week,” Bridget smiled cordially as she plunged her fork into the risotto.

“Business as usual around here,” Franky said. “How ‘bout you?”

“Hmm… yeah, well, despite the circumstances, it was nice to spend time with family. I wish you could have come. I would love for you to meet them.”

Franky nodded. “Yeah. Maybe they could come visit,” she said idly.

“Like you could drag my brother away from his shop, or get my mom on a plane,” Bridget smirked and shook her head. “This is delicious, by the way.” 

Franky ignored the compliment. “I was thinking if it were a special occasion that they might.”

“It’d have to be pretty special.”

“Hear me out. I love ya, and this past week has made me realize that I don’t want to live without ya. I think I wanna marry you.”

Silence.

Bridget cocked her head to the side slightly, like she did when she was assessing a client. “Did you just propose?”

Franky swallowed hard. “I think I might have.”

They both began to laugh. After a moment, Franky stopped laughing and Bridget continued a while longer. Watching her closely, Franky reached across the table and took her hand.

“What d’ya say?” 

Right then Franky felt more vulnerable than she had all those times Bridget counseled her. Bridget bowed her head, a slight smile tugging at the corners of her mouth. Franky followed her eyes to their hands, their fingers threaded together against the table

“Franky…” she exhaled. 

“I don’t have a ring, but I love ya and--”

“Franky,” Bridget interrupted.

She felt sick. Franky didn’t think she could take the rejection if Bridget didn’t want to marry her too. Why had she said that? She hadn’t planned on proposing. Hell, she had rarely let her mind wander to that scenario and certainly if she had to do it all over again, blurting it out at the dinner table would not be the way it went down. 

Franky tugged her hand loose. “Don’t worry about it.

“Franky, I love you, I’m just taken aback.”

“Forget it.” She looked away.

“I don’t want to forget about it.”

“What _do_ you want?” Franky let her eyes wander back to meet Bridget’s from across the table.

“You.”

“Me,” Franky repeated.

“Just, you.”

She remembered the feeling in her chest in that moment--buzzing heat that radiated throughout her body. If love had a physical feeling, she reckoned that’s what it felt like. “Is that a yes?”

Bridget nodded. “Yeah, of course.”

Franky grinned and looked down at her food. “Eat your dinner,” she said.

They never got married. It was something she’d put off, never finding the right time to set a date or invite the families. The worst bit was that her inaction wasn’t for lack of desire. And now that they were separated, Franky felt the lack of safety net acutely. Bridget was her touchstone, just by being near her made Franky a better version of herself. And so, she knew what she had to do.

When the truck slowed and the engine cut off, Franky waited for the workers to call it a day. When she was satisfied it was safe, she pulled her staples and crawled out of the box. The realization that Allie had duped her hit hard. Franky was on her own and on the run. But she was free.

The wind was against her face, the moonlight reflecting from her shoulders as she ran toward the only person that made sense--Bridget. Franky knew she couldn’t involve her in her quest, but she had to see her just the same. As a train shuttled by she felt relieved to see her car parked on the street. Franky knew she managed a group session in the evenings on Friday and it was just by chance that she happened to be in the neighborhood. The truck yard was down by the waterfront and as luck would have it, Bridget’s offices were nearby so as Franky ran to her, her body was on fire with anticipation. When Bridget appeared from within the building, pure relief washed over her.

She smiled, raising her arms from her sides. “I love you! And I’ll be back.” 

It wasn’t goodbye, it was a solid see-you-soon. After all, Franky was shit at goodbyes. But she reckoned that was okay because the one person she couldn’t say goodbye to, couldn’t say goodbye to her either.

* * *

Fin.


End file.
